


Drain The Whole Sea

by westandvigilant



Series: until the Earth is free [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Breathplay, Choking, Consensual Kink, Dom/sub, F/M, its gonna be a trainwreck at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-30 14:25:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3940195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westandvigilant/pseuds/westandvigilant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Our bodies call out to the demons dormant in our minds.<br/>A mage and a templar really should be more careful<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just exploring the life of my canon Inquisitor, a young Circle mage who believes in the Maker, even if she's under the impression that he hates her.

They both knew they were playing with fire.

They pretended it was all so surprising. Pretended they hadn’t explored the deepest recesses of their own minds. Pretended they hadn’t spent years mapping fear into cold seas and anger into scorching deserts. That they hadn’t expertly cataloged every nook and cranny. Swept every cobweb clean.

They saw their pain with crystal cut clarity and discarded the map the moment it became apparent they could get away with it.

* * *

Elin felt the hesitation. Counted the seconds he used to hold himself back.

“I know this isn’t what you need,” she whispered as Cullen pulled her into him. It was loving, sure, but practiced. Not too little, not too much. Just enough.

“You are exactly what I need.”

“No,” she flinched away. While Cullen searched for words, she nervously eased off the bed and sought out the darkest corner of his ramshackle quarters. Only moonlight shone between them by the time Elin turned around. His eyes almost looked sad, but there was guilt knitted between his brows.

“Elin, I-”

“Please, don’t. Please don’t patronize me.” Her blue eyes shone wet under the stars. “I can feel it. How you hold back. Like… Like I’m some fragile bird.”

Cullen scrubbed his hands over his face from his spot on the bed, not daring to close the space between them. Knowing she was right. Not trusting himself to admit it. Images of this woman, the woman that he loved, marching into Haven were seared into his mind. Of her newly hardened muscles flecked with blood. Of the unsure smile and downcast eyes, the only response to her admirers, to her faithful.

To him.

She wasn’t fragile, no, but she was precious.

“I know you need more,” she continued. She took a long inhale into her already full lungs and took another step forward. The moon was now able to directly set her hair aglow. “Teach me.”

The room began to buzz. He felt like she had sucked every ounce of oxygen from the world. “What?” He asked, each letter of the word burning in his mouth. 

“Teach me. Teach me how to fuck you.”

That night, he looked up and into the swell of midnight she had just occupied, hands still folded between his knees. A deep breath. A cough to clear his throat. Then he trained his gaze upon her, the cool amber of his eyes on fire.

That night, he commanded her to kneel.

That night, she complied.

* * *

How many times had she been forced to say it?

Magic exists to serve man, never to rule over him.

How many times do you have to say something until you have to believe it?

* * *

Routine. The morning sun, with its cornflower rays and dust speckled radiance, was for tenderness. Fluttery kisses and languid lovemaking. Her smiles against his chest and his nose buried into her slender neck.

Elin’s stifled laughter as he tripped out of bed while making a beeline for his trousers, stumbling down the ladder to intercept Josephine before she sees too much.

But the night. Oh, the night. The night was for a silver moon and pinprick stars illuminating the taught muscles of his shoulders as he pinned Elin against the wall. Or his fingers around the nape of that slender neck, pressing her pretty face into the floor as he pounded her cunt however he saw fit.

Cullen’s triumphant smirk when she came for him, on cue. Like a good girl should.

* * *

The world was ending. The Templar’s had ruined the name of the order for which he gave decades of his life. Even his own body was beyond control, breaking into sweats and aching while he did nothing but sit at his desk. All in an attempt to be better. 

He had been better. The Inquisition made him better. Made him into the man he had always wanted to be. She made him into that man.

An escaped Circle mage with a naïve smile made him into that man.

He understood the Maker’s irony, the Templar in him just didn’t appreciate it all that much.

* * *

Someone had taught her how to suck cock. Cullen could tell, the first night they made love, her expertise in sucking him off made ever more apparent by the time it took to synch her confused hips with his when he finally entered her atop his desk.

The thought killed him more than he’d like to admit. 

The tongue-work was intricate and swirling and it made his head float, but just thought of her kneeling before him - Elin,  _his_  Elin - her only goal to follow his every order, made his head float. Her twirling tongue wasn’t his preference. Not his style. It was someone else’s fingerprint.

With a swift motion, he grabbed her chin and watched with hooded eyes as his glistening cock slid from her mouth, her eyes flicking up to meet his stare. Maker, they were so big. So blue. So perfect. And she knew exactly how to use them, looking innocently up at him while she sat on her heels, dutifully awaiting his command. 

“Open,” he said, barely hidden jealousy curling his lip. She obeyed, displaying a wet, innocent mouth for his defiling. Cullen’s throat stiffened in arousal. He pressed a thumb into her tongue and satisfaction curled inside of him as it flattened to his will. “Keep it flat.”

She flushed at his correction, barely prepared for when he framed her face with broad palms and thrust into her open mouth. But she listened. She obeyed. Let her tongue lay completely prone as he abused her mouth. Got drunk off the groan he let out as his cock hit the back of her throat over and over and over and over and over again.

* * *

Elin hadn’t been to the Chantry in months. She still took the Maker’s name in vain like any other red-blooded Andrastian, but she never attended service. Never spoke the Chant of Light.

The Maker hated abominations. She didn’t have to listen to self-righteous Sisters to know that. It was plain as day, written all over her stolen childhood. And what else was she, other than an abomination? The Herald of Andraste? 

She walked by with heavy feet and a heavier conscious, the bruises of yesterday’s Venatori raid webbed spectacularly across her right cheek. 

She didn’t have to repeat the Chant to know she deserved this. 

Yes, they were singing the Chant, but all Elin heard was a single disgusted voice seeping into her heart and hissing one word:   
_mage_.

* * *

If only her noble, Chantry-bound family could see her now. See the scourge of the Trevelyan bloodline being stripped in the high guest chambers of Halamshiral, her expensive Orleasian bodice and dragon bone corset being ripped to shreds by a pair of calloused Ferelden hands. The absolute scandal it would cause.

“Josephine is going to murder me-.” The sentence broke into a throaty moan that echoed loudly off the walls around them.

“Quiet, love,” Cullen teased as the carcass of the dress finally fell to the floor. “It’s nothing compared to what I’m about to do to you.” 

Her stomach flopped, heady in weightlessness when his arms closed around her. It was a haphazard thing, her body tossed over his shoulder, his hand firmly on her ass, completely unceremonious while he carried her to the overly elaborate bed. Small work was made of her underthings. They were mere scraps by the time he had pulled them off.

And yet he stood completely clothed and stately in front of her, with his fine dress doublet and sash. Elegant boots and a leather belt. His haughty stance never failed to ignite a flame within her, he was so poised. So tall. So perfect. A blush thundered across Elin’s cheeks as he pulled her knees apart, the fresh air hitting her over heated skin. His only reply was a smug smile.

“Did you think I didn’t see you?” He growled, fingers curling protectively around her ankles. “Everyone saw you.”

Immediately, Elin thought of a thousand Orlesian eyes upon her as she crashed through the door into the Ballroom of the Winter Palace. The sizzle of the staff in her hand and the collective flinch that rippled through the crowd.

Before she could answer, Cullen leaned forward and left a blistering kiss against her lips. One hand gripped the back of her neck while the other cupped her sex with an infuriating stillness. “Dancing the night away with every noble you could get your hands on. Were you trying to make me jealous?” 

Now it was her turn to smile, with abandon of course, open mouthed and scintillating. Elin had danced with exactly two other nobles, for as little time as she could muster while being polite. The rest of the night she was all Cullen's, any jealous he may have felt was amplified for this exact purpose: Their own pleasure. She breathed what she supposed was relief, but it was cut short by a sharp slap to her cunt. A moan ripped through her mouth to rival any whore he had heard at Kirkwall’s Blooming Rose. Cullen chuckled and paused to taste the juices his naked lover left on his palm.

“Look at you,” he hummed, easily sinking two fingers insider of her and slowly drawing them out. “If only they knew how you moan for me and only me." Pulled her even closer. She could smell metal and oil even though he wore no armor, the scent tattooed to his skin. The sheer intensity of his gaze, the heat of their closeness made her heart flutter. Maker, she loved how he claimed her.

"My name had better be the only thing on your lips for the rest of the night.”

Cullen quickly unlaced his breeches, only willing wait long enough to get as undressed as necessary. He entered her and, in one smooth motion, buried himself to the hilt inside of her. His hands moved to her breasts, taking one pert nipple in each hand to pull while his hips pounded against her and she cried out his name like it was the only word she knew.

“A little too loud, girl,” he warned, a sardonic lilt to his voice. His right hand shot to her throat, caressing it for a moment before applying an expert amount of pressure. At this point, there was no use denying the peak tightening in her core.

She began to spiral, the climax too close, dangling right in front of her. His name continued to fall from her lips, turning into a curse, the syllables becoming a mash of letters and gasps until she whimpered something he had never wanted to hear again:  
“ _Knight-Commander.”_

His hips never stopped moving, didn't miss a thrust. The change in his face was nearly imperceptible, just a narrowing of the eyes; a set to his jaw. Elin nearly apologized until his left hand folded over her mouth. 

Her orgasm was near simultaneous.

* * *

He couldn’t help it. It was like tonguing a busted lip. 

It just felt too good to stop.


	2. Chapter 2

It was a perfect night and they deserved it. After hours of arguing over the war table, listening to a Chantry envoy explain in great detail how the Herald could never be a mage, and convincing Sera to stop shoving fish into Solas’ paint cans, Elin deserved a rest.

Cullen did, too. His soldiers had grown more than lax in the past two months and he had spent the entire day reminding them just how demanding he could be when necessary. And it was necessary. Just because Skyhold seemed impenetrable did not mean that it was invincible. Less than a year ago, Cullen had promised Elin that Haven would never happen again, and he had meant it.

They stood together on her balcony, Cullen behind her with his arms circled around her waist, her in front, head resting nicely against his collarbone. She breathed in the fresh mountain air. A stiff breeze ruffled her bangs and sent Cullen’s loose tunic fluttering around his arms. Couldn’t ask for anything better.

Warm candlelight shone in the darkness from the Mage’s Tower across Skyhold. Elin smiled to herself, happy that she was able to provide something so useful to her fellow mages.

“That turned out nicely, didn’t it?”

“What did, love?” He asked, pulling her into an even tighter embrace.

“The mage’s tower. It’s nice.”

“Yes, a wonderful place for all Skyhold’s young mages to go burn curtains and freeze the window panes.” He chuckled immediately, catching her flying hand before it reached her intended target: his chest.

“Unfair,” she whined.

Cullen shrugged, giving her hand a kiss before releasing it. “You must stop telegraphing your movements. You’d make an awful assassin.” Instead of smiling up at him like he thought she would at his gesture, she walked back inside the room.

“No. I mean that was unfair of you to say.”

Of course. He thew his hands up in annoyance of himself. She could be sensitive, he knew, and unfortunately he could be a lummox. “I only meant that anyone practicing anything is bound to have an accident or two,” he sighed, crossing back behind her. He took a seat on the bed and tried to meet her gaze, but she seemed more interested in something underneath her fingernails. “You should have seen the racket I caused when Father gave me my first practice sword... But,” finally, her eyes lifted to his, “I am sorry. It was unworthy of me-”

“You just need to watch your words sometimes.” Elin sat down next to him, still fiddling with her nails. He knew she was right. She usually was. Yet, there was still something in his head that told him that he needed to know what the mages were up to in the tower so late and he hated himself for it.

The emotions played out across his face, his lips a thin line and his stare seeing nothing. She smiled and placed her hand on his knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He returned her smile with one of his own before sliding his arm around her shoulders. And from there, the kiss seemed nothing but natural.

It was sweet, his lips warm and steadfast against her own. It was a quiet, sure kiss. No pressure. No rush. Absolutely perfect.

But she wanted more.

An easy game, really. She had learned what buttons to press. Which strings to strum to get what she wanted. All it took was moaning into his kiss, biting his lip, and tightening her fingers around his waistband. 

“I need you,” he breathed.

To which she quietly replied, “Yes, Ser.” 

And those were the exact words he was looking for. The game was on. 

Within minutes he had her stripped and on all fours in front of him, anxiously awaiting his touch. Some nights he was all about the tease, about earning. Tonight, it seemed, he was all about demanding. He thrust into her quickly and without ceremony. His hands were harsh as he gripped her hips and unforgiving as he set a tortuously slow pace. Once she got used to the rhythm, he twisted his fingers into her hair and pulled it tightly. “Fuck my cock,” he growled, stilling his hips and waiting for her movement.

Unsure of what he meant, her cheeks blazed and she balked, only to receive a smack on the bottom. “Sit back,” he instructed, now cupping her high on the thigh, using insistent strokes of his fingers to coax her backwards. She did as commanded, drawing his cock deep inside of her. It was so indecent, so fulfilling as his cock stretched her under her own ministrations that a sharp gasp hissed through her teeth. 

“Now up,” he grunted while urging her to comply, "now back." Then, finally, he slapped her bottom again. “Come on, girl. We haven’t got all night.” With that she was moving, fucking him slowly as his eyes raked her nubile flesh.

She loved his hands. Love their broadness, their roughness. With her now controlling the pace, they were free to roam her body. To whisper circles into her breasts. To tug at her hair. To draw a line down her spine and to her-

“Cullen!” She shuddered as his thumb ghosted over her second entrance. The reaction only illicited a chuckle from him. He licked his thumb and brought it back down, swirling it over her ass. If she wanted him to stop, she need only to say so, but instead she was mewling under his fingertips. Yes, mewling. That was the only word he could think to describe the sounds his lover had begun to make.

 _His_. She was his and would claim her in every way possible, if she would let him.

“Oh, love,” he murmured. So innocent, even now. “Never been touched there, have you?”

Before Elin could answer, images started to flicker before her. Images of a much younger Templar, this one with dark hair and an Ostwick accent. His extended hand. Deceptively chivalrous. Closed doors. Taking her affections and using them for his own explorations of her form.

But that hesitation was all the answer Cullen needed. Thoughts of her alone and alluring in the Circle crashed his synapses. His mind went dark and he angled down, thrusting his cock deep into her cunt and forcing his thumb inside her ass and snarling three words:  
“Dirty fucking mages.”

It was all too much, too quick for Elin and she panicked.

Then, three things happened in quick succession:   
The sharp smell of ozone flooded the room.  
Electricity cracked under her fingertips.  
Cullen let loose a Silence that sucked the air out of her lungs.

And then it all went dark.

* * *

 The collision was inevitable, wasn’t it?

* * *

 She awoke minutes later on the bed in Cullen’s lap, blinking away the haze and stars. He smoothed her hair away from her sweaty brow and shushed her working lips.

“Hush, love,” he whispered. “You need to catch your breath, relax. Breathe with me.” He laid his hand over her chest, the warm weight somehow comforting as she synchronized her exhale to his own. They repeated this until her heart regained its beat and the color returned to her face. Slowly, ever so slowly, her mana began to trickle through her veins and rebuild.

Barely able to look her in the eyes, Cullen let out a tremulous sigh. “Elin, I-”

“The effects of lyrium don’t go away over night do they?”

He swallowed the words in his mouth and cleared his throat. “No, they don’t.”

Elin closed her eyes. Months off lyrium and Cullen still had the most powerful Silence she’d ever seen, much less experienced. The thought terrified her.

“Elin,” he began again, brushing a golden curl from his forehead. “I lost control and I... I don’t know what I would do if I...” The words trailed off and died. There was no way he could express the helplessness he felt. He prepared for her to slap him across the face and throw him out, never speak to him again. It was more than he deserved.

Instead, she took a deep breath and said, “Me too.” Losing control of her magic wasn’t something she had done in years. It was embarrassing to say the least, most of all while she was with Cullen. Cullen who she knew had a dangerous past with magic and mages and, Andraste's ass, what had they gotten themselves into?

Then, the back and forth commenced.

A selection of the most repeated phrases:  
“If I had just...”  
“It wasn’t your fault.”  
“Please, don’t.”  
“I’m sorry.”

They had been playing with fire for so long, it was a miracle that neither of them had been burned. That they hadn’t ruined each other. But, Maker, didn’t it feel good to dance in the flames?

Their pleas and attempts to take the blame wheedled on into the night. Eventually, they found themselves laid out on the bed, still speaking though their eyes had long closed. Elin’s head was rested against Cullen’s chest, who played idly with her hair as the talked.

“Can I be honest with you?” She said in a desperately sleepy voice.

“Of course, love." A yawn lengthen the syllables, but he meant every word.

“I...” She licked her lips, trying hard to say the words. “I liked it. Giving up my control. Letting you, um, punish me. It felt good.” Her face was blazing hot by the time he finished.

“I liked it, too.” He left it at that, unwilling to articulate what it felt like to have real command over her. To feel like she was his and only his. Not a symbol or the messiah, but really and truly his.

“I don’t want to stop.”

“Me neither.”

“Then we should have rules.”

“Agreed.”

“Good. I’ll talk to Bull.”

“...what?”


End file.
